The Slug Club
by Scriptorial Therapy
Summary: Dear Mr. Severus Snape and Miss. Lily Evans, You are most cordially requested to attend Professor Slughorn's dinner party for Hogwart's brightest and best, where you may have the opportunity to mingle with the rich and the powerful of the Wizarding World.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I've been planning this one for a while. I never write Snape-centred fiction, but I loved writing him. I love Snape as a character, even though I hate him as a human being. Truthfully, a lot of me went into writing him (that's not something I admit proudly) but I hope you get a sense of his bitterness in this. Reviews are very very very appreciated.

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**The Slug Club.**

The hum in the room was so cheery it seemed artificial. A brass band was performing on a raised platform, the musicians attired in gold dress robes. House elves flittered about offering food in lilliputian portions. People chuckled, chatted and took their chances with the nonentity celebrities; all false smiles and flattery.

Lily was holding a fluted glass filled with something fizzy. She was smiling as if to herself. Big, gold hoops dangled from her ears, swinging as she nodded her head along to the music.

Severus awkwardly manoeuvred his way through the older students to get across to her. No one made an effort to acknowledge him as he tried to push past, forcing him to retract his limbs at odd angles to squeeze through. By the time he had reached her, he'd already decided it was best to leave.

"I think they're famous," Lily mused, motioning towards the band. "I think Marlene's mum was playing them when I went over her house once."

"Why does it matter?"

His abrupt tone caught her attention. She probed him with her generous eyes. "What's up, Sev?"

He finally allowed himself to study her properly. Her dress robes were flowing and long, the material rich. Her make up was heavy and her fingers were pregnant with rings. Big, bulky ones that he thought were garish. But she'd gone to a lot of effort. That's what he took away from the assessment. Although she had underplayed it, she had been genuinely excited about the invite. He felt a pang of guilt as he complained, "I want to go."

"But we've only just arrived!"

Why was she always so shocked when he expressed his desire to withdraw? She knew how he loathed this sort of company. He had painfully explained how awkward he felt around these sort of people. Everyone was so well dressed—even their skin seemed to be of a finer quality than Severus'. He was aware of how oversized his dress robes were. Second hand, not in bad shape, reasonably new with a wide floppy collar. But they were big and slack and fell limply around his body, like a scarecrow's sack of an ensemble. Highly self-conscious, he kept pulling up the sleeves. He hadn't noticed at all until he'd put them on in his room and Mulciber had taken the piss out of him. "Who the fuck are you trying to impress, Snape? You look like a fucking bat." All of his friends had joined in on the taunts. "Poor bugger, can't even pay for new dress robes," they lamented, pushing him about. But they reassured him that they were only taking the mickey, and had quickly grown bored and moved on from the subject anyway. Still, it had put a damper on his confidence.

His self-consciousness was heightened because they were the youngest in the room. It didn't matter for Lily. She was striking and well known, and the older students greeted her in passing with _"Alright Evans?"_ and "_Enjoying yourself Lily?"_ None of them spoke to Severus, despite the fact he stood beside her.

"What the fuck am I doing here?" he muttered, plucking a glass off a passing tray.

"You were _invited_. You deserve to be here."

He sneered at Lily, wishing he could tell her to grow up. No one cared if you were invited unless you mattered.

He spotted Slughorn moving through the crowd, first identifying him by his pretentious chortle and then by his robust belly. His dress robes had a superfluous tailcoat that flapped about him as he turned from student to guest. Severus recognised a Quidditch player but couldn't name him or even think of the team he belonged to—he never much cared for Quidditch.

He knew that Lily was flattered to be a part of the Slug Club. She loved this sort of rubbish, because it gave her the opportunity to feel connected and important. It was a big deal in her eyes, being the only Fifth Years there. He watched her as she watched the room, gazing at those who were dancing. He watched with bitter ire as her eyes came to rest on a tall boy in the year above. He was handsome and blonde, dressed in yellow robes and platform shoes. Awful. So flamboyant. And yet, Lily was fixated on him.

"You know Patrick—"

"Who?" Snape demanded.

"Patrick Sullivan. That blonde boy. He's Hufflepuff Keeper."

"Why would I give a damn about Patrick Sullivan?"

Lily sent him a pointed look. "Well, he's nice to begin with."

"Nice to _you,_ maybe."

"Stop being a prat. Look who he's talking to. Is that Ruslana Lynch?"

Severus' beady eyes now snapped in the Hufflepuff's direction. Lily was right. Ruslana Lynch was listening to Sullivan prattle on, all the while wearing her trademark lofty expression. She was obscured by beautiful fur trimming around the collar of her cloak. Ruslana Lynch. Standing only ten metres away. "Merlin's balls. It is."

His eyes flittered back towards Lily in time to notice her alarm. She clutched her glass tightly. "Can't believe Slughorn invited her. Do you reckon he taught her?"

"I'd assume so," Severus replied. "He collects students, you know. The promising ones."

"Lynch, though. That's a tad controversial. She supports all that bullshit about Donovan's Social Pyramid."

"Yeah, but she's a brilliant Dark Arts trader."

"Right, because _that's_ a reputable job," Lily rolled her eyes, taking a sip from her glass and keeping her eyes on Lynch. "Especially after that scandal in the papers about her harbouring illegal, magical artefacts."

"So what? She's good at what she does."

"But she's not a very good person."

"But why should that matter?" Severus persisted. He could tell that Lily was getting frustrated so he bit his tongue, sensing that he'd already said enough. He wondered if he could rectify this. "I'm just saying, Slughorn had a reason for inviting her, you know? He keeps in touch with the rich and powerful."

Lily shook her head, staring into her glass.

Great, he'd already fucked things up and it was only eight o'clock. He would have been keen to talk to Lynch, and had been genuinely excited to recognise her. But he'd stepped on Lily's toes, and there was hardly a way to withdraw from the hostility between them. Showing interest enough to persist in a conversation with the witch would only aggravate the issue. Lily was refusing to look at him, firmly staring ahead at the room. He sighed in frustration, feeling an ugly flush crawl into his pallid cheeks. He knew he had to make things right if he wanted the night to be bearable. He swore beneath his breath, swore into his glass as he took a gulp.

"Sorry, alright?" he spat. The apology only seemed to injure her more. He tried to make his tone less harsh. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Of course not," Lily replied sarcastically. "You never mean anything by it."

He wanted her to just accept the apology so they could both be on the same side again. "Why are you taking it so personally?"

"Who are the rich and powerful, Sev?"

"What?" He blinked in surprise. What the fuck was she on about now?

"Never mind," she huffed, looking away.

She was letting it slide. He exhaled, glad that she wasn't going to hold it against him. He finished off his drink and turned to her. "We should go. Let's have a fag."

Lily sighed, fingering her glass. Her eyes flittered around the room, as if she wanted to be in anyone's company but his. She couldn't stand his whinging. "It's only been half an hour."

They were both scowling. Severus was sweating terribly. He just wanted to leave, or at least sink into the wall behind him and disappear. Lily seemed to have other plans. She was watching those who were dancing on the small dance-floor with longing in her eyes.

"If you want to dance, just go," Snape said.

"But I can't dance alone…" she sent a pointed look in his direction. His stomach flipped. He shook his head before she even began to ask. "Please, please, pretty please?"

"There is no way in hell, Lily."

"You just need to loosen up!"

"That's impossible."

Panic was setting in, and he began to sweat even more profusely. His hands were slick.

"Fine," Lily replied coolly. She handed him her empty glass and stalked directly over to Patrick Sullivan, tapped him on the shoulder and presented him with her best smile. He laughed at whatever it was she said. He offered his hand, and she accepted, and so, Sullivan led her towards the dance floor.

Severus was stunned, standing stock-still with both empty glasses in limp hands. Did she fancy Sullivan after all? No, Lily couldn't possibly fancy that smarmy bastard. She _couldn't_ fancy him, he was a complete shithead. The only reason he was in the room was because he could catch a Quaffle. No, Lily couldn't possibly fancy him.

She was doing this to punish Severus.

Feeling bitter, he planted the glasses on a nearby table and stormed towards the door. His angry exit was intercepted by Avery. "Leaving already?"

"Yeah."

"Spoken to Ruslana yet?"

Out of all of his friends, Avery was the one Severus trusted least. This was, in Severus' mind, an indication of Avery's cunning. Where Mulciber was brutish and rash, Avery was always cold and collected. So, if the question had come from Mulciber, Severus wouldn't have minded. But from Avery, it was loaded.

"Decided not to," he said, trying hard to appear nonchalant.

"What's stopping you?" Avery's blue eyes were piercing.

"Nothing. This party is shit so I wanted to take off."

He began to move towards the door, in an attempt to circumvent both his friend and the impeding conversation. Avery intercepted Severus once more, deliberately stepping in front of his path. He was almost as thin as Severus, with a gaunt face and ash blonde hair that gave him the appearance of an old man trapped inside a young body. Physically, he was hardly any more intimidating than the scrawny, weedy boy in front of him. He was all thin lines, like a stick drawn figure. But Avery's gesture carried weight behind it. Authority. Severus couldn't challenge it. "It's Evans, isn't it?"

He shook his head, wishing she could be left out of it. He hated his mates talking about Lily. Whether it was to use her as the prime example of a mudblood or to talk about her budding body, he had a great distaste for their conversations. Her name in their mouths was a curse, and it made him cringe.

Avery was aware of that.

He clasped Severus' shoulder, gripping him tightly, with great urgency. "Lynch is on the same page as us, you know? She understands that life is a struggle. The weak have to be crushed."

Severus wanted to tell him that Lily wasn't weak. She was one of the brightest in their year. She was daring, much more daring than Severus. She was _not_ weak. But he didn't have the balls to say it. He chewed the words in his mouth and swallowed them down. His friend scoffed, unimpressed with the silence. "Just fucking shag her and be done with it. I'm sick of you trailing after that mudblood like she's worth a damn."

He shrugged Avery off. He wanted to retreat. Avery sensed his discomfort and knew that he had achieved his objective. He began to slink towards a group of older Slytherins. He wore a smug smile. "See you later, Snape."

Even the prospect of leaving no longer held any satisfaction. To leave now would not be a defiant withdrawal; it would be a shameful retreat. Severus stirred, unsure of what to do. He wanted to march right over to Lynch and demand a conversation, as if to prove himself. He also wanted to march right up to Sullivan and punch him in the face. In order to compromise, he sprung forward and took another glass off a tray, took a sip, and refused to do anything.

Lily wasn't a mudblood. She wasn't weak or unclean. She was here, wasn't she? She was here out of her own merits. She was outstanding. She had influence. More influence than Avery did.

Too much influence, Severus thought, as he eyed Patrick Sullivan, who laced a hand around Lily's waist. What a dope, he thought. Absolutely moronic. Something snapped. He wasn't sure what motivated him to do it, but he _did _march right over to the pair to interrupt their dancing. Severus thrust his drink into the Hufflepuff's hands. "Mind if I cut in?"

Sullivan gaped at him. Lily grinned, impressed. "Of course not!" she waved Sullivan off. "Thanks for the dance, Pat!"

Lily weaved her hand into the crook of Severus' arm and pulled him towards the other dancers. She beamed at Severus when she stopped and faced him. Clearly this bold gesture had atoned for his earlier mistakes. Still, the prospect of now having to actually dance did not enthrall him. He felt his entire body stiffen in response to the saxophone's solo. "I don't know why the fuck I did that."

Lily rolled her eyes, taking his hand and pulling him along to the music. She danced naturally, as if she were a leaf responding to a breeze. She gracefully embraced the rhythm with her lissom limbs. In contrast, he could feel his body locking up more and more until soon he was twitching rather than dancing.

Lily laughed. "You're such a spaz."

The song graciously came to an end with a smattering of applause. Before Lily could encourage another, he dragged her off the dance floor. She wrapped an arm around him and led him through the crowd. "Was that really so bad?"

"It was awful."

She smiled at him and he felt her arm tighten. "There can be worse things than dancing."

They found their way to one of the bay windows and leaned into the sheer, gold drapery. Finally, they were feeling comfortable again. They watched the room, commenting on the celebrities and the fashion interests of their peers, laughing at the idiot who showed up in paisley dress robes. He didn't so much mind being the youngest of them there when they were being so unobtrusive. It was nice to just observe—to not get involved. To not be dancing or fighting or mingling. This was easy. How easy it was to be unattached beside Lily. How much more easily they got along.

Lily smiled at him, her green eyes darting over his robes. "You look positively dashing, by the way."

"Shut up," he grumbled. He paused awkwardly. "You look really nice."

She beamed back. Her smile was contagious. It made his mouth twitch in the best possible way.

"Miss Evans! Mr. Snape!"

They both flinched palpably. Slughorn waddled across towards them. His walrus moustache rippled beneath his rosy cheeks, and the tailcoat of his fern green dress robes flapped in his excitement. The two teenagers exchanged quick glances, and Lily straightened up.

"Hello Professor."

"Is my star duo enjoying the party? Have you tasted the bat liver canapés? Lily, my, my. You look radiant."

Lily smiled weakly.

"And Mr. Snape. I was meaning to ask you if you'd met Ruslana Lynch."

Ah. Shit. He could feel Lily tense beside him. He suddenly wished she could understand what it would mean for him to talk to her. He swallowed his pride. "No, I'm not really interested in meeting her."

"No?" Slughorn replied. Severus could feel Lily studying him with sceptical eyes. "Severus, I insist. She's the reason I can procure such fine boomslang skin," he said with a cheery wink.

They were both towed towards Lynch, and at least Severus could pretend it was against his will.

Lily wasn't buying it though.

Ruslana Lynch was a beautiful woman who had aged elegantly into her forties. Her skin was tight, except for a few select wrinkles that were carved around her mouth, permanently pursed in a scowl. Her eyelids were heavy, drooping over an unimpressed gaze. She held a long cigarette holder which she hardly bothered smoking. As Slughorn pained himself with the formalities of flattering the infamous witch, Severus exchanged a pleading look with Lily.

With a blatantly forced smile, Lily introduced herself to Lynch and the wizened, gold-toothed man beside her. They were integrated into the previous conversation very poorly.

"We were just discussing Carlotta Pinkstone's latest demonstration," Lynch said, lazily examining Severus' robes.

"Carlotta Pinkstone," Severus said surprised. "You mean—"

"The witch who deliberately used magic in front of all those muggles," the wizard supplied. "It was in the papers recently—"

"Azkaban," Lynch finished. "Ten year sentence."

"She'll be out for parole though," Slughorn added hastily. "It's not as if she killed anyone."

"She might as well have," the wizard replied. "The Ministry takes the Statue of Secrecy very seriously."

"The Statue of Secrecy," Lynch mused for a moment. "enacted the same year as the Salem Witchcraft trials."

"1692," Lily responded.

All three adults turned to look at her. Severus closed his eyes, wishing he could disappearing through the floor. There was an awkward pause. The gold-tooth wizard took a nervous gulp of his drink. Slughorn chuckled uneasily. Lynch examined Lily Evans, unimpressed.

"Without the Statue of Secrecy, we wouldn't have such wonderful education facilities," Slughorn said diplomatically.

"_With_ the Statue of Secrecy, we must send our children away to hide in an unplottable castle to ensure their safety," Lynch replied darkly.

"What are you suggesting?" Lily's voice was bold and ready for an argument. It was the voice she used for her stupid muggle-loving egalitarianism. "It's unrealistic to strive for a utopia where we can all get along—"

"No, but we can strive for a society where there is no persecution from muggles."

Persecution _from_ muggles?" Lily spat. "Which side has been doing the killing!"

"Now, now," Slughorn said nervously.

Lynch drew herself up to her full height. She was terrifying. "I think you've forgotten the witches and wizards who were burnt at the stake."

"And _you're_ forgetting the pureblood maniacs that are killing off muggleborns—"

"Scum. They need to be weeded out."

Lily looked genuinely shocked. She spluttered. Her face was turning red. Severus reached forward to grab her arm, as if restrain her.

"You—you—arrogant—_disgusting—_if anyone is scum it's _you_."

She took a quick step back, as if reeling, said goodbye to Slughorn and stormed out of the room. Lynch scoffed, clearly pleased with herself, but no one else moved in their little group. Severus felt sick. His eyes flittered from the door to Lynch to the rest of the room, as if terrified that someone had seen it all. His hands were slick again.

Why did Lily have to be so damn dramatic? Why did she have to care?

Slughorn teetered on the spot, mirroring Severus' uneasiness. "Oh dear," he said anxiously, but more as an attempt to reconcile the situation.

"It's fine," Severus said. "She just gets worked up sometimes."

"Silly girl," Lynch said.

The rest of the conversation was a blur. Not longer did Severus care about meeting Ruslana Lynch. That had all been spoiled. He felt awkward and distracted and unable to enjoy himself. His shoulders were bunched up under his ears. He just wanted to leave, now more than ever.

When it seemed a polite enough interval in the conversation, he thanked Lynch and said goodbye to the others and finally retreated across the room. No one tried to stop him from leaving.

He knew where Lily would be.

He arrived at the Astronomy Tower to find that she was not crying, as he had expected, but that she was sitting stonily on the edge of the rampart glaring up at the night sky. Her skin was white in the pale light of the moon. There was no real sense of solitude, for the night pressed its cold face against their bodies. They always came up to the Astronomy Tower, even though it was out of bounds. He walked up to stand near her. The very weight of his presence must have been felt, but she never acknowledged it. Maybe it wasn't as weighty as he thought.

"Do you want a cigarette?" he asked because he had no idea what else to ask.

After a long pause, she nodded. He fished one out of his pocket and lit it with his wand. He let her have the first drag, and then decided it was acceptable to sit down beside her. She still didn't look at him.

"I didn't agree with anything she said," he told her, almost defiantly.

"I never said you did."

"So what's your problem."

She sighed, seeming sad that she had to explain it. Lily sighed a lot around him these days.

"You said Lynch was one of the rich and the powerful. And people like Lynch are the ones in control."

"Well, not always—"

"No," Lily said. "That's exactly what you meant by it when you said it."

He huffed.

"And I, by very nature, fall into the latter category. I'm the scum, I'm the one who needs to be weeded out. I'm weak. Isn't that right?"

"She never called _you_ weak."

"But that's what she _meant_, wasn't it?" Lily replied cuttingly. "It's survival of the fittest, isn't it Sev? And according to who is powerful and who is weak, I won't be the one surviving."

He hated her for saying this. For the truth of it.

"But _you're_ not weak."

"What difference does that make?" she snapped. "What different does that make when I'm not the one who decides who lives and dies?"

He didn't want this shoved into his face. She never let these things drop. She just couldn't see it from where he stood. He was a half-blood. He was in the in-between, neither identified as the weak or the powerful.

Lily wouldn't die. She was stronger than him and she was cleverer.

But if she kept insulting people like Ruslana Lynch then she was practically asking to be exterminated.

"You're not weak," he repeated again, almost sadly.

She nodded. "I know." The way she looked at him, it was clear that she though_ he _was the weak one. He was. He was the weak one. She handed him back his cigarette with a sense of finality. "I'm not scared either."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I actually wasn't going to continue this, but Phinea Rogue prompted me along :) I'm pretty sure this is where the story ends though.

I just wanted to add how much trouble I had writing this. Lily says that "_Mulciber and Avery's idea of humour is just evil," _in Deathly Hallows. Trying to write these characters really did make me feel sick. A lot of people like to romanticise Snape as being a victim of his friendship (total rubbish) but I'm not pro-Severus (or pro-death eaters for that matter). I despise this group of characters, and I don't condone their version of fun either. Nevertheless, I hope I captured the sadism that makes Lily so uncomfortable.

Also, thank you for those who reviewed :) I probably would have left the story where it was otherwise. You guys are awesome x

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Severus turned the shower off and rested his head against the cold, tiled wall. Water dribbled over his brow. He wanted to be purged of the whole night, to scour himself of the wretched memories. He would never attend another Slug Club party again, even if his Professor begged him to, and chances were he wouldn't. What a disaster. Never again, he vowed into the empty, echoing space.

Tonight was supposed to have gone better. He had mapped it out in his head; even his dialogue was pre-prepared. He would arrive, doused in an air of aloof confidence, the kind that he carried in the Potions classroom. People would avoid him not due to their dislike for him but due to their intimidation. The crowd would part as he made his way over to Lily, and when he said "Let's get out of here," she would swoon at his words and say she'd rather be anywhere else as long as she was with him.

It hadn't exactly gone to plan, had it?

As always, he stewed in his self-pity and tried to decide where things had really gone wrong. This was the way in which he managed the series of fallacies that his life comprised of. Discover who was at blame, and condemn them. Loathe them. Wish every form of evil upon them. Never let the grudge go. So far, this method had worked well for him. He blamed his mother, his father, that twat Potter—and when he truly became desperate—he blamed the God he only believed in when things were going wrong. He took a moment in the shower to identify who was at fault this time, to absolve himself of the sick feeling in his stomach.

It was that damn conversation with Lynch.

Or perhaps it was Avery, provoking him. He had worked Severus up.

Or it was Lily's fault. She had wanted to stay. She wouldn't leave with him when he asked.

Or, if he went even further back, it was Slughorn, for giving them the damn invitation.

But these were feeble excuses and Severus knew it. If he were to acknowledge the true source of the night's tension, it was Donovan's Social Pyramid.

He couldn't blame Donovan for such a fine piece of literature. It would be blasphemy. The book had been published in the 1940s, yet it had become increasingly popular with the aristocratic class in recent decades. Severus had read the book in his Third Year, greedily stealing the words during the night, filling his pockets with ideas. A second-hand copy that he borrowed from Avery's trunk. It had inspired Severus, allowing the fissure of his divergent thoughts to fully develop. Torn between Lily and Avery, he realised that Avery's way of thinking was right. That Donovan's way of thinking was right. That it was reflected around him in every possible way.

It was not biological, but simply a natural progression of social ethics. Was it appropriate for Muggles to breed with Wizards? No. It was not. Was it appropriate for Muggleborns to be educated with Purebloods? No. It was not. Everyone served a purpose within the structure of Donovan's Social Pyramid—Pureblood witches and wizards lead society, where as muggleborns are best suited to slave labour. Based on this structure, Severus would never be placed last.

Those who do not possess magical qualities are inconsequential, and would be eliminated.

The small, salacious print was still visible in his mind, as if he had just finished the book yesterday.

_Whatever survives these hardships of existence, thus, renders fit to continue the process of procreation._

But there was always the catch. Where did that leave Lily?

Severus had never told Lily he had read the book, much less reverently agreed with its subject matter. She would be furious. He imagined the scene with Lynch tonight, but this time her fury was directed at him.

He thumped his head against the wall. It hurt, and that was satisfying. His self-pity was further stirred at the sound of his dormitory on the other side of the bathroom door—Avery had just returned from the party (the other boys gave a tell-tale cheer that announced his arrival). The door was slammed. The laughter was cajoling. Now more than ever did Severus want to stay in his hiding place. He summoned up the motivation to at least step outside of the shower. Feeling incredibly foolish in the small, cramped lavatory, he began to pull on his pyjamas.

He stared at himself for a moment in the cracked mirror—cracked because Amycus Carrow had thrown his shoe at it after getting a poor mark on an assignment, and no one seemed to want to fix it. He stared at himself, splintered in the glass, and wondered if this was an appropriate time for an epiphany. For some great realisation that would permeate his very being. Force him to change his ways. To become, as Lily put it, the best possible version of himself that he could be. He stared, but the epiphany eluded him. All he saw was a skinny fifteen-year-old boy with a beaky nose and stringy, damp hair. There was nothing impressive about him in the least.

He turned away from the mirror in disgust and finally left the bathroom, in order to face his friends. The boys were lounging on their beds. Mulciber was examining a bottle of Quintin Black, taking a whiff of the clear liquor before reading the label. It was expensive, and no doubt stolen. Avery was undressing, tossing his robes over his trunk.

"Where'd you fucking go, Snape? You just disappeared," he said, without turning around.

Severus shrugged, although it went unseen. He sunk down onto his bed. " I told you the party was shit. I went for a smoke."

Carrow looked up. His beady eyes probed Severus, as if patting down his pockets. "Got one still on you?"

Severus nodded towards his trunk and the other boy Summoned the pack of cigarettes with his wand. In a moment, the room was clouded with smoke. They scavenged for cigarettes. Savages starved for nicotine. They were hard to get unless you could have someone mail them to you or buy them in large quantities from Hogsemeade. They stockpiled them. There was always an internal trading system going on in the Common Room, usually resting upon barter. He resented sharing his cigarettes with the other boys, because they never could return the favour. They went through theirs so quickly.

"I spoke to Lynch though," Severus said, as if to mollify Avery.

"No bloody way. Lynch? Ruslana Lynch?" Mulciber sat up.

"Who do you fucking think?" Avery demanded. "Yes, Ruslana Lynch."

"Far out. She's like…one of _the best _Dark Artefact traders.

"No shit," Carrow puffed.

Avery didn't bring up Lily's outburst. With enormous relief, Severus realised no one had actually noticed it.

Mulciber returned to his bottle, like an oversized infant. A boorish, thick-knuckled brute gulping down liquor. "I think we should have our own little party, aye?"

Carrow got them stoned. If you could count on Carrow for anything, it was knotgrass. He probably procured it from the Forbidden Forest, where it grew in abundance. It was easy enough to get your hands on if you wanted to risk being caught.

Mulciber threw Severus the bottle of Quintin Black. He had never tasted the stuff before—he had only ever tasted alcohol twice. Once, his father's beer, and another time, some mead. He had smoked plenty by fifteen but had never indulged in liquor. He was nervous to try it now, in case his reaction gave him away. He took a tight-lipped sip and passed it along. It wasn't as bad as he thought, although it was hard to swallow. He was beginning to relax. The taut rod holding him so straight began to slacken. He began to mirror the grins of his friends.

"Do you know what we should do?" Avery asserted, mirth in his eyes.

"What?" Carrow asked.

"Let's make a hit list."

Mulciber guffawed, stealing back the bottle. "Decide which fuckers die first, aye?"

It was a splendid idea, and the perfect way to begin the festivities. Carrow was ordered to get some parchment. They gathered in the centre of the room, sprawled over the floor, lying on their bellies or leaning against their four-poster beds. Under the jest, it was all very ceremonious. They gave the writing utensils to Snape, commissioning him as scribe. In his usual scrawl, the page was neatly numbered.

"Who first?" Carrow prodded.

"Dumbledore," Severus said reflexively.

The appreciative jaundice that rose from the other three boys accented their approval. The muggle-loving blood traitor. There was no one worse. Dumbledore was loathed by them all, with the same extreme vehemence. Severus happily inscribed the name in first place.

Sirius Black was listed next, for when you think blood traitor, you think Sirius Black.

To satisfy Snape, James Potter was third on the list.

"Now the mudbloods," Mulciber grinned.

But there was too many to list. Where to begin?

"Dirk Cresswell." Carrow spat.

"Scum," Avery said.

"Swine," Severus corrected.

"Ivan Renshaw," Mulciber added.

"Mary McDonald."

"Add her to the list."

The list grew and grew, and so did the jeering and insults. It was highly entertaining, and lifted Severus' spirits. Muggleborns were not the sole candidates. Soon, anyone who had ever offended the group of Slytherin boys was included on the list. As each person was added with an appropriate insult for validation, Severus' satisfaction grew. He imagined killing them personally as he finished writing their names, and as each died, he climbed another rung up Donovan's Social Pyramid.

But, eventually, the inevitable happened. Lily's name was called upon. Severus' hand stiffened.

No one spoke.

The laughter died in the air. Suddenly, it wasn't a joke—for any of them. Even Mulciber held his tongue. Everyone watched the boy with the beaky nose, only inches from his parchment.

Lily's name had been called. How could he discriminate? What could he possibly say that would convince them that Lily did not belong on this list?

Avery tasted the suspended tension and turned cautiously to diplomacy. "Nah, not Evans."

Severus' dark eyes flickered towards him, but only for a moment. He couldn't give himself away.

"Severus thinks it'll be a waste to kill her," Avery explained.

The air remained stiff.

"Keep her like a pet, you mean," Carrow clarified.

Avery snorted, his laughter snapping the silence. "They should be on a separate list."

"Who?"

"The girls. Evans, McDonald, Parkes."

"To shag them, you mean," Carrow clarified thickly.

"A quick Imperius Curse. It would be a waste otherwise," Avery shrugged. "Right, Snape?"

They were giving him an out. An excuse. An alibi for his affection. His infatuation. He hated it. His stomach churned. His blood boiled. He wanted to scribe their names onto his list. He wanted to pick up his wand, and with a simple slice, slit their throats. Not Lily. They couldn't put Lily on either list. Not her. A part of him knew that he should care for the others—Lily would be furious that he would only want to preserve her—but he couldn't care less. It was Lily he needed safe. Needed pure. Untouched.

He loathed it when they discussed his best friend so candidly; reducing her to mere meat whose sole purpose was to satiate their tastes. It wasn't as if he was immune to those thoughts either. But she was too good for his pathetic fantasies, let alone the others. He always resisted it, or resented it at the very least. She became sullied by their lust. He tried for faceless strangers, but Severus found himself searching their faces for traces of Lily.

At least he cared for her.

Mulciber had an extensive stack of dirty magazines under his bed. Severus had looked through them in his third year, and had been shocked by explicit images that now seemed mundane. There were the usual ones. Moving photographs of nude women, rubbing engorged breasts and arching their backs. Always with the same, feigned expression of ecstasy. Always wearing some silly accessory. Perhaps a pointed witch's hat or scuffed Quidditch boots. The images seemed more unfamiliar than erotic. He had been put well off by some of the other magazines Mulciber kept under his bed. Sadistic pictures. Women hanging from chains, their naked bodies slowly rotating. What would they do, if they got their hands on Lily? Rape? Murder? Not necessarily in that order, either.

But he found himself laughing through dry lips. He nodded once, as if acknowledging the cleverness of Avery. Sick. Sick. They were sick and he was a weakling.

"They all deserve to die, either way," he said. "They're vermin."

Mulciber thumped him on the back. "Right you are, Snape." And he thought that would be the end of it.

But this comment seemed to have exhumed a thought in Mulciber's mind. He leaped up, hunting for his wand. He almost crawled into his mattress to retrieve it. He seemed proud. "I wanted to show you lot something."

"Alright," Avery nodded, as if granting permission. "Go on."

Mulciber Summoned a box. It was no larger than a shoebox. Carrow stirred uneasily, for within it there was a definite scurrying. The box seemed to move due to the din in it. With nimble fingers, the brutish boy removed the lid. The other three leaned in to examine the contents.

"A rat!" Carrow spat. "Are you mental?"

There was more than one rat. Three to be precise. They were large and feral, with sleek brown coats and slick tails. Black beady eyes bludged from their heads. Severus couldn't help but wonder when, or how, he had caught them. Mulciber did have a fondness for doing unconventionally disgusting things, so Carrow's fear was not unwarranted. Where had the rats been? Severus prepared not to think about it.

"I needed something to practice on."

"Practice what?" Avery prodded excitedly.

Mulciber ceremoniously held up his wand, with the same finesse of a conductor with his baton. For a moment, Severus expected Mulciber to make the rats sing. What he saw impressed him much more.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

The words were said with the relish of a boy who had been dying to use them. A spark of green lit up the wide eyes of his audience, and a moment later, his chosen rat had dropped dead. It was a stunning performance. None of them had ever successfully carried out the Killing Curse. They rewarded Mulciber with a smattering of applause.

"Brilliant," Severus said.

"That will definitely impress Lucius," Carrow commended him.

"If you could do that to a mudblood, it would impress the Dark Lord too." Avery said this pointedly. His eyes darted towards Severus. Forever doubting him.

He wanted to rise to the challenge.

To prove himself.

"It's a shame though."

"What is?" Mulciber demanded of Severus.

"It's a shame, how quick the Killing Curse is. Instantaneous."

None of them had ever really thought about that. Now that Severus had mentioned it, they all seemed to frown from the qualm it caused. Avery began to nod, as if the thought had just occurred to him. And what a terrible thought it was. "You're right. Where's the fun in it?"

Severus raised his wand. "You need to be a little bit more creative," he explained dryly. He fixed his eyes on the fatter of the two rats. It crawled over it's mate's corpse. "_Sectumsempra_."

The whip of his wrist was perfectly executed. The rat was slashed through its fat body. Blood spurted out and up, thick and hot. The boys cheered, pressing in closer to watch. The rat died in less than a minute, but the death was a decent show. Blood filled the box. The last rat been to scurry more quickly, terrified that it could not escape. The boys looked at Snape respectfully.

He felt the smug smile crawl onto his face. For the first time that night he felt aloof, confident. This is why they needed him. They refused to admit it, but they needed him. Not even Avery could compete with Severus' natural flair for the Dark Arts. The self-invented spell was one of his favourites. Created and tested specifically to be used on enemies.

_On enemies._

He looked at the rat, and then looked at his list. He could kill each person on his list with that spell. It would be so satisfying.

The way to become powerful is to become indespensible. His friends couldn't afford to lose him. He believed it, in the dark quarters of his dormitory. He looked at the last, surviving specimen and smiled. "Who wants to do the honours?"


	3. Chapter 3

The day which followed the 'Lynch incident,' was absolutely ordinary. Severus dressed, ate and sat through a variety of classes with his best friend by his side.

In the words of Lily Evans, there was no point holding a grudge.

Perhaps Lily was gracious because she wished to set an example for Severus. He was never the type to learn by example.

The following weeks passed as if no friction existed. The term commenced in its usual fashion. A Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch match was an excuse for Severus and Lily to sit together and cheer for no one in particular. These were his favourite rendezvous with Lily, as there were no sides to choose from and no arguments to be had. The seating was crowded, the sound of the student's cheering bouncing around the stands. And echo of "Rav—en—Claw!" and "Huff—le—Puff!" interjected with stamping of feet and the shrill screech of whistles filled up the space. The teams flew around, doggedly attempting to play in the billowing wind.

Severus watched Patrick Sullivan sourly. He was an exceptionally good Keeper. Despite every attempt from Ravenclaw's Chasers, not one managed to score against him. Lily cheered with the others, mostly cheering when people cheered, not really caring which team was in the lead. She snuck her arm through the crook of Severus' bent elbow. She wasn't wearing gloves, so he could feel her cold fingers against his skin. At times like these, it was easy to let his imagination run wild. She might have been mistaken as his paramour, as he would liked to think. And with Lily so close, so voluntarily close to him, he really didn't mind Sullivan so much.

She turned to him during a break in the commentary. Too close, Severus thought, his stomach summersaulting. They were only inches apart. Her shoulder and arm were still pinned to him, as if they had been stitched together. An ugly flush crept over his sallow skin.

"I was thinking," she said. He could feel her breath on his face. He had thought about kissing Lily a lot, but now, given the proximity to that reality, he realised he could never do it. He couldn't close the distance. "Marlene, Mary, Remus and I are going to study for our O.W.L.s this afternoon." She didn't seem to be aware of the affect she had on him, the way his face was burning. Couldn't she feel the heat? She was only inches away. She must be able to feel it, he thought nervously. "Would you care to join us?"

"What?" he asked, having heard not a word she had said.

She repeated herself patiently.

The idea of sharing Lily with her stupid friends did not appeal to him. Especially not Remus Lupin. He shook his head. "Thanks, though."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged. Without saying anything else, she turned back to watch the game. However, she left her army snugly intertwined with his. He couldn't concentrate on who had scored against who. All he could think about was Lily's cold, little fingers.

The game ended in the usual way—with one side cheering buoyantly and the other hissing in disappointment. It was the nature of these things; there always had to be a loser.

When Gryffindor and Slytherin played one another, he found it preferable to sit in his own House. This had not always been the case—in their younger years, he would spend the match in the company of Lily. Yet, as they had grown older, this tradition became more testing on the nerves. When Gryffindor won, which was more often than not, Severus could not be happy for Lily (as she would have been in the opposite circumstances), simply because the victory was largely attributed to James Potter. He would grumble reflexively, and she would grow annoyed with his beastly attitude, and events would sour. It was much easier to sit with his own friends, in his own House, and complain freely about what a twat James Potter was.

It was difficult to juggle friendship between Lily Evans and the boys. Lily was sweet and sensitive whereas they were realistic, assiduous, having goals in mind that Lily lacked. He couldn't say much for Carrow. But Mulciber and Avery would get places. The same places Severus would go. He was not without ambition. He had big plans. Plans that involved the Dark Arts, that involved the Dark Lord. Perhaps if Lily saw the way in which he excelled, the particular brand of his talent, she would not be so opposed to the Dark Arts, and all the promise they held. He was sure if she could witness his prowess, her admiration would outweigh her disapproval. And then they would stop fighting so much.

Sitting for his O.W.L.s. was an unnecessary accessory to his education. He did not require the qualifications in order to find work. His wandwork was his qualification. His ability to invent spiteful yet useful curses was his qualification. A position had already been secured for him once he finished school. He may not even need to complete his Seventh Year. It all depended on the timing.

Regardless, maintaining a friendship with Lily Evans had to be a priority.

Severus walked back up to the school with her, surrounded by a throng of students. He dug around in his pocket to offer her a coveted cigarette—one of the remaining few he had stored away. But Lily shook her head delicately, her eyes darting around. "I told you, I've quit."

"You had one the other night," he defended, never having taken Lily's ambition to quit smoking seriously.

"I was in a foul mood that night and succumbed to my baser instincts." When he did not show any evidence of being amused by her sentiments, she prodded him further. "You should be familiar with that."

He shrugged dismissively and tucked the cigarette away. "Suit yourself."

She rolled her shoulders, as if she was preparing for a run. "It's all a part of transforming myself."

"Into what?"

"Into a better version of myself," she explained.

"You sound like a hippie," he accused.

"Oh, come on! Healthy changes are good!" Playfully, she flicked a lock of his long, greasy hair. "Remember that haircut in Third Year?"

"How could I forget it," he responded dryly, providing her with an exaggerated shudder.

It had been at the start of the school year, during an unusually balmy afternoon, and both Lily and Severus were unanimously free. Lily was musing the prospect of a shorter, neater hairstyle for her best friend, and was attempting in vain to convince him of it. She argued along the lines of _change for the better_, and _something new,_ and of course, _you won't hide away so much behind your hair_.

But Severus loathed the proposition, and Lily had guessed that before she even voiced it. She knew very well that he had been steadily growing out his hair over the years in order to hide behind it. Perhaps, what managed to convince him (rather reluctantly) that Lily should be allowed to attack him with scissors was that she insisted he would look more handsome.

"I can never see your eyes, or your smile," she complained. "Not through this mop."

So he relented, and she cheered, and with a rusty pair of shears, she hacked away at his hair. He had never had anyone touch his hair, and the affect was quite startling for a boy of thirteen. He watched as feathery, black strands drifted down past his shoulders with each enthusiastic _snip!_ When she was finished, Lily stood back and circled him, examining him with a professional's eye. "It's perfect," she said, and she showered him with compliments. Nervously, Severus ran a hand over his head and was surprised when his fingers could feel his ears, his forehead, and then eventually, the cropped mop sitting on his scalp. His face felt bare and exposed, but it was an oddly liberating feeling.

"I like it," he agreed, and Lily hugged him, laughing. If this had been her reaction, he would have cut his hair long ago.

But soon after Potter had teased him, asking where he would now get the oil from to light his lamps. And his roommates made fun of him, commenting on how ridiculous he looked. And when he examined his reflection, he noticed the prominence of his nose, the way it protruded from his face in a steep dive, and he examined the acne that covered the usually hidden corners of his skin. And so he took his wand and regrew his hair that night, with the help of some advanced magic.

He reminded Lily of how hideous it had looked.

"Change is good," Lily repeated. "And you shouldn't care about other people's opinions of you. Let them think what they want to think."

She was already an excellent version of herself. What was there to change? He shrugged, not really agreeing with the self-actualisation that she ascribed to.

"Are you sure you don't want to study with us? It will be fun."

"No, thank you," he replied coolly.

Lily mimicked him from earlier, the same indolent shrug. "Suit yourself."

They parted then, as she had an appointment to uphold and he had to find an excuse to occupy his time without her. He set off towards the Common Room, and although he tried not to, he couldn't help but imagine her off with her idiotic friends. That Mudblood Mary, as soft in the head as she was loose. Marlene, the one filled with unorthodox opinions and ideas. And of course, Lupin. He was certain that there was something suspicious in his monthly disappearances, his furtive behaviour. Not to mention his correlation with Potter and Black. Why would she belittle herself by keeping company with such people?

While he pondered this, Severus noticed James Potter, at some distance ahead of him, ducking out of a passageway in the wall. Severus froze, waiting to see if anyone would follow him. But, surprisingly, Potter was on his own. The stone wall was sealed behind him. In his hand, he clutched a folded piece of parchment but was otherwise unarmed. He tucked the parchment away, into his robes. Severus immediately noticed the 11 inch mahogany wand poking out of his back pocket. He felt a sneer slide over his face, before he had even retrieved his own weapon. It was time to test a few of his personally invented curses.

"_Langlock_," Severus hissed, his wand aimed at the back of Potter's head.

He had attempted the jinx once before, and the results had not been as effective as he hoped. This time, it seemed to have the desired outcome. James Potter halted mid-step, his body tense, but not a word was uttered in reaction to having his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. He spun around, and just as he realised who his attacker was, Snape followed with his second curse, "_Levicorpus_."

Potter was hoisted up by his ankle, hanging precariously in mid-air. His face struggled as he attempted to form the swearwords his tongue was unable to articulate. He looked ridiculous, upside-down with his glasses sliding onto his forehead. Just as he was groping for his wand, Severus finished with a full Body-Bind Curse.

He circled him from below, amused by the very sight of him. With a lazy hand, Severus summoned the boy's glasses. James' eyes followed him, squinting partially from blindness and partially disdain.

"Not so cocky now, are we Potter?" Severus taunted, and with a deft hand, he snapped the glasses in two. He tossed the pieces onto the floor, and stepped on them. It was a satisfying feeling, made more dramatic with the sound of crunching glass.

He waited until the blood had rushed to his captive's head before he performed the counter-jinx. With a thump, James hit the floor. Snape resumed his walk down the hall, putting some distance between himself and Potter before he removed the other jinxes. It was just as he rounded the corner that he heard James Potter's furious voice—"You coward! Next time curse me to my face!"

He sneered snidely, hastily making his way up the stairs, not wanting to be chased down. But Potter did not pursue him, and for that he was grateful.

The run in with his greatest rival had restored his mood. He would gloat to the other boys about it. No doubt Avery would be impressed by the success of his jinxes. They would ask Severus to teach them, forcing them to admit he was superior to them in the Dark Arts. The only thing that tainted his good mood was Potter's parting words. But who was _he_ of all people to call Severus a coward? He was not a coward, he was cunning. Clever. As Lily had said, he should not care about other people's opinions, especially not James Potter's.

To rub in his victory, he stopped by Filch's office on the way to the Slytherin Common Room in order to report that a secret passage had been found, and that students were abusing it. Within the week, it had been filled in.

To his relief, Lily never found out that he ambushed James Potter that afternoon. He can't imagine how she would have reacted, for although she believed James Potter to be distasteful, she believed Severus inventing curses to hurt his rivals utterly odious. Most likely, she would have lectured him, telling him to be the better person and the rest of her hippie rubbish. He was glad to avoid the lecture.

As usual, he sat beside her during Potions. This was usually his favourite class. Lily had a general knack for Potions, and Severus regarded himself as gifted, so working together created a sense of harmony that was otherwise difficult to come by in their friendship. Lily said that they worked together like a well-oiled machine. As Slughorn had rightly said, they were the star duo of the class.

They were making Draught of Peace, which was a Potion that would be made over two classes. Today they would be preparing the ingredients. Severus was certain that he could get the entire potion brewed in one period, but worked at the pace of his partner in order to placate his professor.

Lily had insisted that she extract the syrup of Hellebore. With great care, she plucked off the five, white sepals on the delicate flower. "Hellebore is poisonous, isn't it?" she asked nervously.

"So they say," Severus replied dryly.

Lily laughed, picking up a pin and delicately puncturing the small ring of cup-like nectaries. She frowned at the flower. "Getting the nectar out is going to take me ages at this rate."

Severus took the flower from her, consulted his textbook for a moment, rolled his eyes at it pointedly, and then proceeded to crush the nectaries with the flat side of his knife. The juices dribbled onto the desk, think and syrupy, as described in the text. Lily laughed, delighted, and used her wand to summon the liquid from the desk and into a phial.

Such improvisations were the reason for their success. Severus took out his textbook to make the adjustment, scrawling over the top of the printed instructions. It had become his habit over the years, and so looking over all of his textbooks provided insight into his personal experiments, commentary and growing expertise at Potions. Little notes on scraps of parchment were poking out of the thickly gratified pages. Already, his copy of _Intermediate Potion-Making _by Libatius Borage was beginning to look the worse for wear.

"Excellent," Lily said. "Now you crush the moonstone."

She handed him the milky gem, along with the mortar and pestle.

It was rather tedious work, but at least Lily made such lessons entertaining. She began to fiddle with the fire under the phial, allowing the nectar to brew. "So what would happen if I drank this?" she asked.

Severus smirked, glancing up from his toil. "You would hope a bezoar is nearby."

Lily rolled her eyes. "How long does this need to simmer for?" she asked, dragging his textbook towards her.

She studied the preparation instructions in greater detail, and then proceeded to read his notes and doodles around the margin of the textbook to waste the remaining time. She was flicking through the pages when she came upon something and stopped.

"What?" Severus said, glancing up, although she didn't reply.

Lily slipped a scrap of parchment out of the pages, taking a moment to carefully read through it. Severus returned to grinding the moonstone, wanting to get the perfect, powered consistency. The period would be over soon.

"What is this?" Lily said, turning the parchment over and holding it up for him to read.

He glanced up again, and it took him a moment to recognise his own handwriting. Dumbledore was written at the top, which was odd to begin with, but it was only as his eyes continued to scan the list of names did he remember what it was, and why he had written it. His throat tightened, and his lungs seemed constricted, as if a fist was squeezing the life out of his body. "That's nothing—"

"What's this list for?" she said again, more firmly. He reached forward, hoping to pluck it out of her hands, but she pulled it closer. He watched her lips silently mouth the names. "Is it supposed to be the…the people you hate?"

"It's something my friends were doing, I wasn't involved," he began quickly.

"It's in _your_ handwriting," she reminded him.

He wasn't sure what to say. Lily frowned at the names. "Why is Mary on here?

"I didn't put her name on there," Severus tried again.

"Why would you make a list like this?"

If only she knew what the list was really for. That it was explicitly designed for the people they wanted dead. For the people he would enjoy killing. She would find him so sadistic.

"Don't be so affected by it, it's a joke," he said.

"Why is Remus on this?"

Severus couldn't resist rolling his eyes, scoffing.

"What is your problem with Remus Lupin?" Lily demanded. "He's never done anything to you."

"He's a freak, Lily. How can you not see that—"

"_Don't—_do not call him a freak," her eyes were bright with the contained fury.

"He goes missing each month. Why do you think that is, Lily?"

"Why do you _harp_ on that? He visits his mum."

"Oh, don't be so stupid."

"Why should that bother you anyway? Why do you care what he does? He's never done anything to hurt you. Why are you making lists like this to begin with?"

The bell rang, and Lily stood, pushing all of her books and utensils into her backpack in one swipe of her arm. Severus stood too, grabbing her arm to delay her but she pulled free. "Don't talk to me," she said before storming out of the room.

He grumbled through gritted teeth, quickly stowing away the ingredients in the classroom's cupboard and labelling them with his name. He pushed out of the room to follow her, having to stretch his gangly legs to catch up.

"Lily!"

"Leave me alone," she said.

"Lily wait, why is this such a big deal?"

She came to a stop. Students continued to surge past them, all around them.

"All my friends are on this list, Severus. All of them."

He huffed, feeling thoroughly bitter. "Well, doesn't that indicate something?"

Lily drew back. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"They're losers, Lily! They're a bunch of losers! Why do you spend so much time with them?"

Lily gritted her teeth. "The only loser that I am friends with it you. Don't speak to me again."

She left him in the middle of the hallway, her backpack trailing from her elbow and her eyes brimming with tears.

It was the biggest fight they had had to date. Neither was willing to back down, to apologise or to make amends. A full week passed without them speaking. Severus was certain that time would mend the gaping wound, but little did he know that this period of separation would foreshadow the end of their friendship. Of course, they did make up. Lily eventually gave in to the pleas that exhumed old memories of their childhood bond. Severus appealed to her sense of nostalgia, her sense of graciousness. He asked her to forgive him, although he never did say sorry. But Lily did forgive.

But as it was after each of their fights, it was becoming harder to forgive and forget. Lily allowed herself to be more distant, to spend more time with her other friends. She no longer challenged Severus when he mentioned the boys or Dark Arts. She just sighed tiredly.

He looked at himself in the cracked mirror of their dormitory's bathroom. He stared at his splintered reflection and began to wonder what it was she saw in him. What was it that Lily wanted to pull out of him? Compassion, empathy, bravery? When he searched himself, he could not find any of those qualities. He looked into each piece of fragmented glass, searching the distorted image of his eye, his downturned mouth, his cracked nose. In none of those images could he see what Lily was searching for. I have to be better, he told himself. I have to be the best version of myself that I can be. But the mantra did not feel right.

He knew what the best version of himself would be, and he could find the qualities that would make him that person. Cunning, apathy, self-preservation. These characteristics were stitched into the lines around his mouth, plied between his yellowish teeth, sewn into the bags beneath his eyes. These were his building blocks. Lily could not see them, feel them, as he could.

It was his cunning, his ability to work with spells. It was his apathy, his capacity to turn the other cheek. And it was his self-preservation, his knowledge of how to survive.

By cultivating these qualities, he would be the best possible version of himself. He would be powerful, successful and respected. And a silly list of names would be his reality.

* * *

**A/N: **So, this is finito. This last chapter just ties up some loose ends. If you're looking for any other Marauder era drama, perhaps my other stories will entertain you. But this particular story is done. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Vanessa x


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